


From the Shadows

by SabrialLuna



Series: Astra Lewis [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23549149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabrialLuna/pseuds/SabrialLuna
Summary: Astra, alone and numb, is sent to her grandparent's house. She has no reason to live. But the neighbor boy, Sherlock, sparks something within her. Amazingly, Astra finds a way to keep that spark and turn it into fire. She survived one heartbreak, and Sherlock helped her heal. But just how much can Astra really trust Sherlock?
Relationships: Sherlock Homes/OC
Series: Astra Lewis [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694866





	1. Astra

**2010**

I kept my hood pulled closed, the wind biting my face as I made my way down the street. It was getting close to spring in London, the temperature turning up. But I should have known by now that despite my years to become adjusted to the weather I always expected it to become warmer than it was. I guess I would never stop hoping for the warmer temperature. February had only just ended, leaving just one month for my lease to the apartment. I really needed to leave that hell hole.

It had been difficult to find a place that hit all of my needs. But there had been an advertisement in the paper not all that long ago for an apartment closer to the center of London, closer to my job. Or, well, jobs. And it was certainly in a safer spot than my current residence.

I walked past the entrance to a cute little sandwich place, already impressed with the neighborhood. I stood in front of the door. I looked down at the newspaper in my hand, checking to be sure the address was correct. It was.

I reached forward, taking the knocker in my hand before banging in on the door and releasing it. I waited there for a moment, looking around the street, watching as people passed by, entering and exiting the sandwich shop. I looked up and noticed a shadow move away from the window above, the curtains fluttering gently.

The opening door drew my attention and revealed an older woman with a friendly smile.

“What can I help you with, dear?”

I smiled at her. By the small bit of flour that was on the woman’s hands, I knew I had interrupted her during baking, but the smile on her face was genuine.

I held up the newspaper, making sure the ad was facing towards her. “I’m here about the flat. Is it still available?”

The woman’s face fell just a little, though she kept her friendly smile. “Oh, no, I’m afraid that it’s already been rented out.”

I nodded, keeping the disappointment out of my expression. “Ah, well, thank you. Nice to meet you.”

I rolled the newspaper up, turning away from the door and stepped away. Before I could get farther, I heard the woman’s voice again.

“There _is_ the lower level.”

I turned back to the woman, not letting my hopeful feelings get the best of me. The woman’s own hopeful look didn’t help. I had been sifting through advertisements for months now, I was tired of looking for a place to live.

“A second apartment?” I asked, stepping closer to the doorway once more.

“I stopped advertising it ages ago. Couldn’t get anyone interested. It’s small, might need a little freshening. Will you look at it?”

I studied the woman as she waited for my answer. She wasn’t lying, she hadn’t been able to get anyone interested, but there was a slight wrinkle next to her eyes. She hadn’t told the whole truth about why she couldn’t rent it out. There was nothing malicious in her expression, and I got the sense that the woman might have just wanted a bit of company for a few moments.

“It’s worth a look,” I told her, letting my smile grow bigger. Even if the flat wasn’t suitable for me, I had the rest of the day off and could use a bit company. I was tired of people banging on my door asking for the drug dealer that had lived in my apartment before me. Things had become scary far too quickly, and I needed out.

She stepped inside and I followed her, closing the door behind me.

“My name is Martha, dear. Martha Hudson.”

“Lovely to meet you, Ms. Hudson. I’m Aster Lewis.”

She walked past the stairs that led upwards and around to a set of stairs that led down.

“Call me Mrs. Hudson, Ms. Lewis. That’s an unusual name,” Mrs. Hudson commented as we took the stairs down. “A flower isn’t it?”

“It is,” I answered. “My family rather likes naming their children after flowers.”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Hudson in a delightful tone as she reached the small landing at the bottom of the stairs. “I always did love when everyone in the family has names that relate to each other. Here we are.”

Mrs. Hudson took out a set of keys from her pocket and opened the door. She stepped inside and I followed her.

The flat was pretty basic. A living room that was just big enough for a couch, a chair, and maybe a television, a bedroom of about the same size that would comfortably fit a bed and some bookshelves, and a bathroom on the smaller side. The kitchen was perfect for a person living on their own, and the walk-in closet was large enough for all the clothes I had. The only thing was the smell.

“It’s lovely. But it smells a bit like damp,” I said, turning to Mrs. Hudson apologetically.

“I know, I think it just needs a good cleaning. If you decide you want to rent it, I’d be happy to help with that.”

I wandered around the space again, trying to imagine where I would put all my things. Would it be big enough? It was in a great location, the tube station was only a few blocks down, there was a great park nearby, and something about Speedy’s Sandwich shop made me feel right at home.

“You said the other apartment has already been rented,” I said, turning back to face her. “Are they good tenants?”

“Oh, the boys upstairs? They can be a bit of a handful sometimes, but they mean well.”

I saw the truth of what she said in her eyes. But I still had my doubts. When I had rented my current apartment, the landlord had said the same thing, and I believed him. I should have known better and I wasn’t going to take it at face value this time.

“A handful? I’m not sure Mrs. Hudson. The place I’m currently at never told me about the problems that are obviously going on there.”

Mrs. Hudson gave me a pityingly look. “I’m sorry to hear that, you seem like such a nice young lady. How about you come upstairs and meet them?”

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. At all the other places I had looked at not one landlord had offered for me to meet the other tenants before I gave them a final answer.

“I think that would help a lot, actually,” I said, smiling widely at her. “I appreciate it.”

“This way, dear.” Mrs. Hudson turned back to the door, and I went up the stairs as she locked it. “They have the upper levels. I think they’re both in.”

She led me up the stairs and she stepped through the open door into a living room. I followed, finding that the room was rather messy, strewn about with papers and books and other knick-knacks. There was a couch against the wall, a table by the windows, and two comfortable looking chairs facing each other in front of the fireplace.

A man was sitting in the chair to the left, a newspaper in his hands. He was blond, a long nose, but a face that just screamed ‘friendly.’

“Oh, John, good. This is Ms. Lewis. She’s thinking of renting the lower level. I thought it would be good for her to meet the two of you.”

John put his paper down and stood as I stepped further into the room so I could see him better. “Nice to meet you,” he said, reaching forward to shake my hand.

“You as well,” I said with a smile.

I took a moment to look at him, to gauge what kind of person he was. He stood straight, something I had only seen military men do. He held his chin high, giving the illusion that he was taller than he actually was. The natural way he did it told me that it was common for him to do this. He was the same height I was, 5 feet seven inches tall, and a stocky build.

The grip of his handshake also told me that he was some sort of professional; the firm way he had taken my hand, the one shake he gave before letting go quickly, but not immediately. He was highly educated, I could see that in his eyes.

As I looked him over, I watched as his eyes quickly scanned my body, gauging my attractiveness, before looking back at my eyes. A few seconds after our gazes met, I saw surprise in the raising of his eyebrows, the crinkle beside his eyes, and the faint sign of discomfort in the way his lips pressed together.

“Oh, my god,” he said, leaning just a little ways forward to study me more closely. “You have that same spark in your eye. You’re just like him.”

What? His comment threw me completely off guard. I was like who? What spark?

“I’m sorry,” I said, making sure the confusion in my voice was easy to read. “I’m just like who?”

“I think he’s referring to me,” said a voice farther to my left. At hearing it, my whole body tensed up. Only my head and eyes moved to see the man who spoke from just inside the kitchen.

“Oh, there you are Sherlock! I was just telling John that Ms. Lewis here was thinking about renting the downstairs flat.”

But Sherlock didn’t answer her. He just watched me, his eyes flitting this way and that as he cataloged each detail I hadn’t thought to try to hide. Finally, his eyes flickered back to mine.

“Hello, Astra.”


	2. Fading Away

**There is a playlist for this story. Here's the link.[From the Shadows](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLp4ys54JCNr-EZdcDRocw2548nG29BjRc). The song for this chapter is: Memories by Peder B. Helland.**

**Thanks for reading!**

* * *

**1998**

I looked back towards the rows of seats and the line of waiting people. There was no one there to say goodbye, no one looking at me with tears, no one to wave. Only two people seemed to pay attention to me, the man who had accompanied me through the airport making sure I didn’t get lost and the lady who was waiting for me to hand her my ticket.

I gave it to her and after a few moments, she handed it back and reached behind me for the next person’s ticket. The man who had shown me to my terminal led me down the gangway and onto the plane. A flight attendant stood at the door, an overly cheery smile on her face.

She was tired, physically and emotionally, of smiling. The crinkles at her eyes weren’t from true happiness, but from the constant exhaustion. It was subtle, she could hide it very well from years of masking everything behind that professional smile, but I could see it. The upturn of her lips wasn’t natural, it was forced, and her slightly watery eyes gave away her true feelings.

But I didn’t say anything. Iris had always told me that knowing people like that, being able to tell exactly how they were feeling by a single glance at their faces, their body language, wasn’t something everyone could do. It normally took people years of practice and of knowing someone personally to do that. She had always told me I was gifted, but this gift needed to stay secret.

I continued on, not bothering with a fake smile at the flight attendants, just followed the man past a few rows of seats and allowed him to help me stuff my backpack in the overhead compartment. I sat in the seat next to the window and raised the shutter.

The sky was cloudy, not that I could see much of them for it was near nine, but the lack of stars dampened my already saddened mood. According to the weather channel that had been playing before I bordered the plane, the rain could start at any time. But it didn’t matter. If the plane was delayed I would arrive late, there was nothing all that important waiting for me after the eight-hour flight anyway.

Before long person after person walked down the rows of seats, shoving their overfilled bags into the compartments above and plopping down in their assigned seat. I didn’t watch them, not really caring which one of them was going to sit beside me. Instead, I pulled my headphones over my head and hit the play button on my CD player.

I closed my eyes, letting the music wash over me as each minute passed, imagining the sound moving from my fingertips to the keys of the piano, to the strings in the piano and the sound that echoed through my headphones.

Someone sat in the seat next to me, moving about, settling down, but I didn’t open my eyes, didn’t even turn my head away from the window. I just focused on the music, hearing each note, the melody, the harmony, the accompanying notes that made the piece magnificent.

Dimly I heard a woman on a loudspeaker on the plane start to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has turned on the Fasten Seat Belt sign. If you haven’t already done so, please stow your carryon-on luggage underneath the seat in front of you or in an overhead bin. Please take your seat and fasten your seatbelt. And also make sure your seat and trays are in their upright position.

“If you are seated next to an emergency exit, please read carefully the special instructions card located by your seat. If you do not wish to perform the functions described in the event of an emergency, please ask a flight attendant to reseat you.

“We remind you that this is a non-smoking flight. Smoking is prohibited on the entire aircraft, including the lavatories. Tampering with, disabling or destroying the lavatory smoke detectors is prohibited by law.

“If you have any questions about our flight today, please don’t hesitate to ask one of our flight attendants. Thank you.”

I paused my headphones to put on my seatbelt, waiting for another announcement, but all I could hear were people shuffling and stuffing bags wherever they could, murmuring excitedly. Several flight attendants helped passengers stow their things and fasten their seatbelts.

Finally, after some time, the flight attendant's voice could be heard again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Sally and I am your chief flight attendant. On behalf of Captain Johnson and the entire crew, welcome aboard. This is a nonstop service from Atlanta, Georgia to London, England. Our takeoff is scheduled for 9:11 PM and we will be in the air for eight hours and fifty-six minutes.

“Once again I ask that you make sure your seats and tray tables are in their full upright position and that your seatbelt is correctly secured. Thank you.”

Having heard the speech, I turned my music back on, closing my eyes and resting my head on the back of the seat.

I felt a tap on the back of my hand and my eyes flashed open, jumping to the man that was sitting beside me. He pointed towards the front of the plane where I could just barely see a flight attendant showing the proper way to put on the life jackets in case of an emergency.

I paused my music, not really caring about what was being said, but sure that I would get in trouble if I didn’t. When she was done, I turned to look out the window, flipping the music back on while watching as the plane slowly backed away from the terminal, then started forward to reach the runway.

Take off was odd. I could feel the acceleration, but it seemed that the Earth just fell away, growing smaller and smaller. And less than thirty seconds later the airport was out of sight. Then I shut the window, turned my music back on, and leaned my head against the plane wall.

My batteries died about halfway through the flight, something I knew would happen but didn’t care enough to prepare for. I would have had a hard time finding batteries in that home anyway. In the three days I had spent there, all the double A’s had been snatched up by the boys that were lucky enough to have remote control cars or planes. All I could do was sigh, take my headphones off and wrap the wire around the CD player.

When the flight attendant walked by, I asked for a bottle of water, earplugs, and a blanket if she had one. She smiled at me much more convincingly than the other had. I didn’t want to analyze her anyway. I just wanted to sleep.

When the flight attendant returned, passing my requested items over two sleeping people, I immediately shoved the earplugs into my canals, drank half the water bottle, and unfolded the blanket. I wasn’t at all surprised to find myself asleep only a few minutes later.

Suddenly jerking awake, only for the seat and floor of the plan to continue its wild movements, was not a way a girl wanted to end a nightmare. It was better than the alternative though. Women were crying out, men calling questions to the flight attendants, and the few children aboard started crying as the lights flickered on and off. I just opened my window, looking out at the ground below.

The plane shook again, but I didn’t move, didn’t clench my hands, didn’t even look to see how everyone else was reacting. I head the chief flight attendant over the speaker but didn’t bother to pay any attention.

After several minutes the turbulence stopped, and I sat fully back into my seat, just gazing at the window.

“You took that like a champ!” Said the man next to me. I turned to look at him, seeing his eyes on my face. He was in his thirties, wrinkles forming at the corners of his mouth, his hair thinning on top. His eyes looked cheerful, his face open for interpretation. He was dressed nicely, a suit and tie, shinning shoes, odd for a flight across the Atlantic Ocean.

My eye raked over his face once more, looking at the hope that showed in the twitch of his lips, the fear that was masked yet openly obvious in the way his hands gripped the armrests. I turned back to the window, looking at the endless blue ocean. He wasn’t all that interesting.

“This isn’t your first time flying is it?”

I didn’t turn to him when he spoke again, just continued to look at the water that was so far below, half-obscured by white fluffy clouds.

“It’s my first time. My fiancé is going to introduce me to her parents. I’ve never met them before, they live in London. Cindy, my fiancé, grew up there, but she moved to America to go to school. She always said that she had only planned to stay long enough to get her diploma, then she was going to move back home and find a job that would value her experience in America. But then she met me, and couldn’t leave. As soon as I proposed to her she said that she wanted to tell her parents in person. She flew over almost as soon as she could get the time off. She’s already been home for a week, but she wanted me to meet them as well, so we could tell them together. I’m nervous.” The whole plane suddenly trembled again, cause many people to gasp in surprise, including the man next to me. “ _How are you so calm?”_

His last sentence was said through clenched teeth, and I didn’t have to look at him for I had felt his whole body tense up as soon as the cabin had given the slightest tremor.

“Aren’t you afraid we’re going to die?”

I didn’t answer for a moment, almost thinking that it really wouldn’t do any good to. But I couldn’t help the words that came out of my mouth.

“It’s hard to be afraid to die when you don’t care if you live.”

I didn’t look at the man, but I could feel his eyes boring into me. I didn’t care what he thought, didn’t want his sympathy. And his look, his stare, was only one in a long line that I doubted would ever stop. I needed to get used to it, or at least start ignoring it. But I couldn’t. It wasn’t in my nature to ignore things like that. Even now, after everything I had known was gone, I had to hold on to the things I held most dear. My music, and my natural understanding of the way people felt and how they used their body language to convey it.

But in that moment, when I felt the man shift as far away from me as he could, I understood the words Iris had always told me. “Other people don’t think like we do. We scare them. We need to keep our observations to ourselves if we want a normal life.”

But did I want a normal life? Did I want a mother and father who loved each other, who always put their two daughters first, who would never fight? Did I want to go to school and make average grades, go to college and become a normal businesswoman? Did I want to work hard, be good at my job, but never be singled out as being great?

No, I didn’t want that. I had wanted the spotlight before all of this began. I had been evaluated, tested, scored. I had proven that the path I was on would lead me to greatness, to a career that I had started dreaming about daily. I had wanted that life, to be sought after for my hard work, my dedication. But that had all changed. Six months ago, I had been on that path to greatness. But now, I wasn’t even sure if I had anything left to live for.

The man next to me didn’t say a word for the rest of the flight and the next two hours had me falling in and out of sleep. Finally, the chief flight attendant announced that we would be landing soon, that everyone should take their seats and buckle their seat belts.

When our plane finally pulled up to the gangway, the flight attendants dismissed us by rows. I waited until almost everyone was off before standing and grabbing my bag out of the overhead compartment. I stepped down the aisle, following a woman and her two children off the gangway.

When I stepped out, I was unsurprised to find an airport employee looking expectantly at the door. When she saw me, she gave me a wide smile. “Astra Lewis?” She asked.

“Yeah,” I said, pulling my bag a little farther up my shoulder.

“Follow me. I believe there are a couple of people waiting to see you.”

I didn’t say anything to her, just nodded and followed as she started leading me from the terminal and down the rounded pathway to the airport entrance. We stepped out of the terminals and into the atrium, where off to the side I could see the man who had been in the seat next to me hugging a woman, an older couple watching them with smiles.

I turned away, my eyes catching on another older couple who’s eyes were now locked on me. “Have a good day,” the airline worker said when she saw me walking towards the people. I didn’t reply. When I reached the couple, the woman smiled at me.

“Astra?” She asked. I nodded and she pulled me into a hug. I didn’t return the favor. When she backed away, she kept her hands on my arms and I resisted the urge to shake them off. “I don’t know where you got that red hair, but you certainly have your mother’s eyes.”

I didn’t say anything. There wasn’t all that much I had to say to anyone. There was no way I was going to tell her that my red hair came from my father, that I looked more like him and his side of the family than my sister did. But I didn’t want to bring that up, I couldn’t have that conversation.

I watched as my grandmother’s smile faded slowly from her lips, and while the past me would have said something to make that smile grow, new me did nothing. I didn’t have the strength to fight someone else’s sadness or disappointment, especially since I couldn’t seem to shake my own.

“Come along now,” said the man, my grandfather. “We have a train to catch.” With that, he turned and started walking, and my grandmother let go of my arms to follow. I was a few steps behind as we went to baggage claim and I retrieved my single suitcase of belongings.

My suitcase, with its one wheel that refused to work, and the backpack contained all that I owned on this big, huge, wonderful, terrible planet. It had all been things I could grab in the ten minutes the social worker had allowed me, most of it clothes and items I just refused to leave behind. The rest of the stuff in that house I could live without, but the thing I needed to survive rested against my heart, secured by the piece of yarn I had tied into a necklace.

All of the items I owned fit in the trunk of the taxi that would take us to the train station. The ride was awkward, something I had anticipated. I knew very little about these people. They were my mother’s parents, they lived in the countryside in England somewhere, and they had never visited me, never called, never sent a birthday card. They obviously hadn’t even known what I looked like until I appeared in front of them at that airport

They knew more about me than I did them. I was sure the social workers had told them all about what had happened, what I had been through, all the events since my mother had cut off all communication and connection with them. They might know a lot of events in my life, but they didn’t know me, the things I loved, the things I hated, the dreams I had for myself. Or the dreams I used to have. The only dreams I had these days were nightmares.

The train ride was just the same. Awkward in which my grandmother attempted to ask questions about my life, if I needed anything and if I wanted to talk about what happened. I ignored her, something myself from six months in the past would have screamed at me for. But that me was gone, dead. The new me didn’t care that she wanted to know. The new me just wanted to curl up in a bed under the covers and sleep for all eternity.

I was barely aware of stepping off the train under the afternoon sky, or of climbing into a dark blue car in which the steering wheel was on the wrong side. I didn’t bother to count the minutes in which I sat in the back seat of the car, my grandfather driving, my grandmother chatting about how much she thought I was going to like it at their little countryside cottage. She chattered on about how the neighbors were already excited to meet me, and how there was a family just down the lane that had a boy my age.

And though I heard her, and some small tiny insignificant part of me cared, the rest of me couldn’t be less interested. I watched as the countryside passed by, the light showing the beautiful scenery, but I just watched as the trees passed by. It was almost soothing.

And then the car was parked in front of a house, two stories, brick, two chimneys puffing smoke, cheery-looking flowers lining the outside of the porch.

“We’re here,” my grandmother said, turning to look at me. I didn’t respond, just opened the door and went to the trunk of the car to grab my suitcase and backpack.

My grandfather unlocked the door and I stepped inside. We had stepped directly into the living room, and I didn’t care enough to look around, to find the details of my surroundings. But my grandfather and grandmother stood there looking at me, waiting for me to say something. But I didn’t have anything to say.

“Your room is up the stairs first door on the left,” my grandmother said.

I took the handle of my suitcase and started toward the stairs that I could see peeking out from the kitchen. I took the stairs slowly, watching as one foot, then the other, rested on the next step up. And then I reached the top. Behind me, I could hear the murmuring voices of my grandparents, but I didn’t pause to listen. I followed the hallway, glancing at the closed door the left, then to the open door on the right to see a small bathroom. I turned back to the closed door, looking down the hall enough to see two more doors farther down. I turned the doorknob and pushed the door open, bracing myself for the worst. But really, the room wasn’t bad at all.

The walls were white, the floor the same hardwood as the hallway. There was a window that looked out the back of the house, a door that must be a closet, and a full-sized bed with a nightstand on either side. A dresser on the opposite wall of the bed stood next to an empty bookshelf. A winged chair sat next to the window, facing out into the garden.

I dropped my bag on the ground next to the bed, sat the suitcase on top of the low dresser and opened it to pull out my only set of pajamas. I left my dirty clothes where they fell, pulled back the sheet and comforter on the bed, and huddled underneath.

I listened to the sounds of the room, and then eventually the footsteps that fell softly on the stairs, the click of a door after the sun had set. But I didn’t sleep. I was cold and no matter how tightly I wrapped myself in the covers I couldn’t warm up.

The grief had been bad, especially since it was the first time I had ever felt it. But the ability to care, to thrive, to want to get out of bed in the morning, to crave food, was gone. After the anger, the pain, a broken heart, and grief, all that was left of me was nothing. I was just empty. Just there, lying in a bed that wasn’t mine, in a house I didn’t know, the ward of grandparents I had never met. I was nothing else.

The sun started to rise eventually, and though the window in the room faced away from the rising sun, I could still see slivers of light start to creep in. I heard the sound of voices outside the closed door, unsurprised to find that my grandparents were early morning risers. My mother always had been. They didn’t knock on my door, and I didn’t want them to. They were better off without me. They had already raised my mother, and even though they had offered for me to live with them, I couldn’t think of a good reason why they would want to raise another teenager. They should have been enjoying their retirement.

I heard my grandmother call up the stairs that breakfast was ready, but I didn’t go downstairs. I didn’t even move. I could hear birds chirping through the window, and the sound of their twittering made me long for the sun on my skin, fresh air gently blowing through my hair. I closed my eyes, imagining it, the warmth, the smell. And then it was gone, that longing to do something, to feel something.

I got up eventually, the pain of restricted blood flow from laying in the same spot for too long finally getting to me. The chair by the window seemed to draw my attention, and once I sat in it I found it very comfortable. I looked out the window, seeing a garden of flowers and other plants growing out of the dirt, and farther off was a large flat area of grass, a single willow tree breaking the distance that stretched to another house, far enough away that I couldn’t see details, but close enough that I could tell the house was yellow and had maybe six windows. The willow tree, its branches and vines swaying gently in the breeze, calmed me.

Eventually, the sun began the shine directly in the window, but I didn’t turn away, didn’t shield my eyes from the sun, just watched as it sank lower and lower, until it sat next to the house on the other side of the tree. Color burst from the sky, pink, purple, orange, before the sun finally disappeared from view, leaving behind a darkening sky. With the sun, life as I had known it faded away.


End file.
